Fit For An Autopsy - The Executioner

Undeserving and rightfully so for all that is good
There is a flaw in the soul
A misstep in the art of creation
Great evils that harbor in the minds of man
We go on searching for God, when we have finally lost ourselves
Congregations of hysterical witnesses
No longer blind to the visions in our dreams
Lamented in the thought, this day would be your last
Crippled by the fact that you have been left behind to serve as a reminder
That the faithless would never be forgiven
Loathsome wanderers
Nomadic incompetence
Failure to survive
Faceless advocates of disgrace
A race of scum
Every citizen, child, scholar, and teacher
Cursed at birth
Swallowed by its very existence
Only in the end as our ashes escape into the atmosphere
A beautiful and righteous ether encapsulates the world
There will be peace in the silence
There will be no more
May the ancestors of our once great civilizations mourn us in the lighted sky
For we all rest in ash, deep in the blackest darkest depths of our very own hell
You will never hold the hand of God
You will never hold the hand of God
You will never hold the hand of God
You will never hold the hand of God
For it is hell, not the devil that I have held inside my heart
It is the guilt, not the ghost that will haunt me
Every time I close my eyes, I remain within this soil
As a servant of my own sorrow
They see me as I am
I am nothing

Written by:
William Scott Putney

Publisher:
Lyrics © Royalty Network

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